Keeping Faith
by J. D. Devereux
Summary: A mash up of your basic SOTL/H fanfics, with geeky humor, suspense, s'mores, and cult movies. Don't get me wrong, it's a serious fic, but you'll have moments of laughter you'll not want to forget. R&R, please!
1. Confucius

*Faith Starling*

'_Where the hell is she?_'

I was getting kind of anxious – mom's never this late.

I looked at my watch – 3:30. She's fifteen minutes late. This is extraordinarily weird. I sighed and opened a book -- _'The Gunslinger_' by Steven King, by the way. It's a good book -- If you read it while listening to 'Hey Jude' it's kind of weird. Not like, '_Brave New World_' trippy-weird, but just kinda weird. I contemplate Mom's lateness. I frown at the thought – she's always punctual. Almost never late, and if she is, she calls me and tells me. But not this time . . .

I'm pushed out of my thoughts by looking across the street. There's this total creeper guy staring at me.

*Hannibal Lecter*

Is that her? I look down at the photograph – it's her. Not only does the photograph match –that eye color just isn't found in nature.

I had no idea what I would do when I'd seen her – what? Was there going to be a miraculous thought in my head of what I was to do? No. Nothing happened.

I look up – and she's seen me. '_Oh Christ – this is going to end badly._' I thought. But, to my surprise, she gave me a puzzled, 'creeped-out' look and went back to her book. I scowled – I was hoping for more of a reaction than that! Well, it's not as if she knows.

I'm lost in my reminiscence as I hear an engine in the distance . . .

*Faith*

. . . And I realize Mom's here. That engine can be recognized anywhere. A mustang pulled up – and I immediately shoved '_The Gunslinger_' in my book bag and slid into the passenger seat.

She sighed, "Sorry I'm late Faith. That jackass Chauncey Velez had me late looking at a murder case . . . sometimes I just don't get these killers, Faith . . . ." She pulled out off the curb as she trailed off.

I frown, "Mom, that's because you think of murder as an _act_. You have to remember that _act_ is but one letter away from _art._ You need to consider it an _art_."

She frowned and pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. "Cheer up," I said, "You'll get it. You always do."

"Yeah – but only after you tell me something psychiatrist-y like that -- remember the case with the guy who killed left handed people – and then chopped off their left hand?"

"Yeah – what about it?"

"You told me that sometimes you don't dislike the _people_ that beat you at something, because once you realize they all have something in common, you tend to hate just that _feature_. And, as it turns out, he'd been refused admission to a college because someone had a scholarship for being left-handed. And his successful brother was left-handed. This guy had been shot down because of left handed people, so he started killing them. And I only realized this after you told me that."

"So?"

"'So?' What do you mean, 'So?' You basically helped me solve that case just by being the Confucius that you are. And now you're telling me this, and tomorrow, I'll see that it was blindingly obvious all along – and the cycle will repeat."

"Well," I muttered, "I can't help being Confucius."


	2. Fun in Math Class

A/N: I'm totally winging this series – unlike Inchoate, which has a rough draft process – this is just all off the top of my head.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Thomas Harris OR His characters. If I did would I be on here writing FanFiction? NO. I'd be busy writing an accompanying book for the upcoming – and by upcoming, I mean that I heard it on Perez Hilton's site – SOTL sequel. With Anthony as Han again. Yay hooray!

*The next day . . .*

"Ugh."

"Marching band was craptastic last night again, I assume?" Thom asked.

"Ding-ding-ding, Thomas E. Jones, you are correct." I sighed, "The flutes were sharp and the percussion was off again. It gave me a nine-hour headache."

We continued walking through the halls to our third hour class, "I have no idea what's up with you, but you should like, invest in earplugs – or like, an anti hearing aid. It might help," He said.

"Maybe, maybe not. I have no idea – I've always been like this. It's not as bad in choir, though. I think that might have to do with the fact that I realize no voice can really be perfect – except for Michael Crawford's, of course . . . ."

"Hey, did you hear there's a new counselor?"

"What? Oh, that guy – I saw him yesterday. He looks kinda creeper-ish, am I right?"

He frowned, "I dunno. I didn't get a good look at him."

"Hey, Thom?"

"Yeah?"

"What's it like to have a conversation with me?"

He smiles again, "Very entertaining, I'll tell you that . . ." He trails off and frowns, "I'd better get to Shop class before Mr. Gillead kills me for being late again." He walked off.

I was left standing in front of my locker, with a frown playing on my lips. I opened my locker and grabbed my Math book and my copy of Nineteen eighty-four. I nabbed my iPod and headphones and jogged up the three flights of stairs to Mr. Roland's room – I was bound to be late, but I could deal. Mr. Roland was a nice guy – a lot of the time he'd just let me slide.

I get to the top and run across the hall to his room, open the door and bolt in –

Just as the bell rings.

"Ooh, Faith! You're late!" It was this douche baggy guy named Knox. This happens at least once a day.

I just stared at him. "What the Hell are you staring at?" One of his friends – Leon or something – asked.

One of his other friends – Mitch, or Mark or something like that – came up to me, "What's your problem?" He asked. And then – this is where he made a _major_mistake – he pushed me.

Now, I'll explain. Every time I make physical contact with someone, something goes off in my brain that says 'GET THEM OFF OF YOU AND AWAY FROM YOU! NOW.'

So I punched him in the face and knocked him to the floor. Very lady-like, eh? Well, that's what happens when your mom's a constantly armed FBI agent. She never leaves the house without at least a magnum .45 in pancake holster. – _At least._ But, back to me punching him in the face and knocking him on his Ass.

I was hyperventilating – "_Don't . . . Touch . . . Me . . . . Ever . . . Again!"_ I turned around to face the class – "What's my problem? I _do not,_ I repeat – DO NOT. Like people touching me! DO YOU GET THAT?"

Just as I was finishing my little speech, Mr. Roland comes in with a sheaf of graph paper. He looks upon the scene with curious eyes. "Is there . . . any problem here?" He asked.

"No," We all said in turn.

Well, this day was going well.


	3. The Good Doctor

A/N: Thank you to the reviewers who especially like whatshisface getting his ass kicked.

NOTE: I do not own Thomas Harris or his characters – I'm merely playing with them until my book is underway.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

That guy started developing a bruise fifteen minutes into math class. Pretty funny – but not to Mr. Roland, who was not in on the entire situation.

"_Psst. Hey, PSST – Bekkah!_"

"_Why are we whispering?"_

My volume rose to normal, "I have no idea – what's number eighteen?"

"I dunno – thirty six? Fourteen? I have no idea – what's number fifteen?"

"Cosine of 18?"

"No, the square root one."

"Oh, the answer's like, 18.8387934879. Or something."

"OK."

The room's phone rang – Mr. Roland had brought in his own phone for the room because he dislikes the school ones. He picked up the cordless. We all tune in to what he's saying. Dan and Dez – in front of me – don't pay any attention. He speaks a few words and turns to me – "Faith – phone's for you." He says – handing the phone to me.

I wore a puzzled face as I put the phone up to my face, "Yeah?" I asked.

"Faith? Yes, we need you down in the counselor`s office."

"Why?"

"Because – just come down, will you?"

"OK. Whatever." I pushed OFF on the phone and gave it back to him. "I've gotta go to the counselor's office."

"Why?" Mr. Roland asked.

"No idea."

___________________________________________________

When I get down to the office – which is on the main floor – they asked me to take a seat.

My question was – on what? There were no chairs in the main lobby-esque area, so I leaned against a wall. I waited for like, ten minutes, and then I was finally called in.

I entered a small room – it had a chair, and a couch. No windows – and there was a desk with no sharp objects on it. And by 'no sharp objects' I _mean_ no sharp objects. Like, there are no pens, or cardstock, or anything else that you could get a paper cut with or stab someone with. It was a freaking _moat._ It was a bit of a scary thought -- nothing in this room to _really_ defend myself with. The secretary called to me with a 'He'll be a few minutes.'

Wow – more waiting. How exciting.

After another fifteen minutes, the creeper guy I saw the other day came in with a manila folder in his hands – I could see that it had my name written on it in neat script in blue pen. I realized how awkward I must have looked, with my knee-high boots with the red laces, the Victorian-esque outfit, overall. I tugged at my right sleeve and crossed and uncrossed my ankles. I started tapping out the tune to 'Shut Up and Let Me Go!' by the Ting Tings with my right boot. He put the folder down within the moat and opened it – it had a few papers in it and also had my school picture in it – Bleh. I am _not_ photogenic at all. At least my braces were off in that one – that was a plus. He turned around and sat down in the chair.

"So," he asked – he had a creepy kind of voice, too – "Do you know why you're here?"

"Because I punched a guy in the face last hour because he was invading my personal space?"

He had a bit of a puzzled look, ". . . no?"

"Because I'm anti-social?"

He looked into the file, "No."

"Because I'm a bipolar nutjob?"

" . . . Maybe."

"Because, if the last one is right – I don't have an _anger_ problem, I have an _idiot problem._ Like, an idiots-who-don't-get-that-I-dislike-human-contact problem."

"Oh."

There was a bit of an awkward silence.

"Scuba."

"What?"

"It's a weird word to say – Scooooooobbbaaaaaaahhhhh."

He gave me a you-are-such-a-total-nutjob look.

"I'm serious! Say it with me, S-C-U-B-A."

"Scuba."

My 'Scuba' method tends to work with psychiatrists – they get really, really confused and then totally give up on me.

I think this time – it may not work.


	4. Flynn OR A One On One with the Doctor

A/N: Thanks for everyone reviewing! [Also, Mischa S., I just enabled 'anonymous reviewing'! Thanks for the suggestion!]

NOTE: I do NOT own Thomas Harris or his characters, but I DO own Flynn the Platypus, [Don't ask, just read.] Along with Thom, Bekkah, the idiots from the previous chapter, and Mr. Roland. And probably a few more that I can't think of at the moment.

Oh – I also totally stole the Scuba thing from Venture Bros. Hehe. I love that show . . . *wallows in weirdness.

P.S. This next chapter, the start of it is in third person Hannibal POV.

_______________________________________________________________________________

_"How do you dare do that without at least consulting or stalking me first?!"_ she angrily stated over the phone.

"Well, it was fairly easy. I got a job application . . . then I filled it out in _blue or black pen_ – that was the hard part . . . ."

"Stop with your stupid freaking sarcasm!"

"You asked a stupid question, and I stated a stupid answer."

"—whatever – where are you?"

"Well, I can see Faith, and your house – and I'm surrounded by Dihydrogen monoxide. (1)"

"_What?!"_

"I'm on my pontoon, and – is that a platypus following her?"

"What? Oh, that's just Flynn. He kind of came with the property. But what's the hell's dihydrogen monoxide?"

"Later – a _duck-billed_ _platypus_ came with your property? How does that even work?"

"Later -- quid pro quo, OK?"

"Quid pro quo. Fine then."

"Now, _what are you doing?_"

"I told you – I'm out for a quiet outing on my pontoon – until I called you. Then it got fairly loud and shout-ey, at least on your end of the conversation . . . " I trailed off as she started angrily talking at me through the phone again. I gazed starboard and saw Faith – she'd switched out her Victorian outfit for a flannel shirt and farmgirl overalls. I think back to when I first 'met' Clarice – she must have looked at least _vaguely_ like that – heredity tends to work that way. Clarice yelling at me over the phone snapped me back from the depths of my memories. Her accent was sharper than the last time we met – a good fourteen-going-on-fifteen years ago, it had been nearly completely shed. Now it was back with a vengeance, unfortunately. "What the hell – wait, Faith's got some gardening to do – that'll take twenty minutes or so – dock up and come over. We need to talk." She said.

"One-on-one, Hannibal."

Without saying a word, I flipped the phone shut. '_This is sure to be a fun evening.'_ I pondered.

_______________________________

_'One-on-one, Hannibal."_

I nab a donut from the counter and head over to the fridge.

"Faith?"

"That's me."

"What're you doing in early?"

"I haven't eaten since noon – cut me some slack. I'm just in here for a donut and some soymilk." I said, raising my hands up in defense.

She frowned a little, "OK. Just wanted to make sure, Hun."

I made a face – "Sure of what?"

She gazed off into space a little, "I have no idea." I shrugged – fine by me. I chugged a glass of soymilk, grabbed some nursery-grown plants out of the hall and headed out to my garden.

_________________________________

Size nine footsteps were heard as I came in through the back door. They were going in the opposite direction, fortunately. I heard a door shut – slam more accurately – and I closed the door behind me. Quietly, I made my way to the kitchen. I had the floor plan in my head already, so I knew exactly where everything was – this may seem extreme, but better safe than sorry, I always say – and it may prove useful later on.

I made a quiet entrance into the kitchen. She was at the phone – I think she was star-sixty-nine-ing me. If it hadn't been so pathetic, I'd have laughed. She slammed down the receiver. I could just imagine the irritated face she wore – once again, hilarious. She stared angrily at the phone.

I came up behind her – silently, mind you – "Good evening, Clarice." And of course, she has a . . .

_________________________________

. . . Inside, I hear mom having a spaz attack. '_OK,'_ I think, '_Either she saw my report card, or she found my secret stash of cult movies. What was on top? Was it Rocky Horror? Or REPO!, or Tommy? Or Phantom of the Paradise or Shock Treatment? I have _no idea._ That can't be good either way . . . . Oh, wait! Did she get called about me punching whatshisface in the face? Then, in that case, it was actually a _good_ spaz! Maybe . . .'_

_________________________________

After she gets over the initial shock and stops hyperventilating, she actually formally greets me.

"Hey. _Don't do that._ It wouldn't be good for anyone else's health – but with you, I guess it's only really annoying. Now – what the _Hell_ is 'dihydrogen monoxide?'

(1): OK, so Dihydrogen Monoxide is _water_ – if you haven't figured that one out yet. Thanks for reading!


	5. Special To Me and Confucius Revisited

A/N: I do not own Hannibal – But Hannibal owns Chilton. And somehow, Chilton owns my . . . MOM.

BUUUUURRRRRRRNNNNNN. And here is your awaited story:

(Oh, yeah, Faith's song can be found on the wonderful YouTube. Just search 'Phantom Of The Paradise – Special To Me'.) Happy reading!

___________________________________________________________________________

"Shit . . . OUCH!" I muttered – I was climbing up the trellis outside my room. So, it's 5:00 – I have a band and choir concert at 6:00.

What's so bad about this?

Maybe the fact that I . . . y'know, maybe _didn't freaking know this? _So, that happens to be the reason that I'm climbing through my own window. Unfortunately, I didn't know that there were freaking thistles on the trellis.

I stick my head through the windowpane and try to remember where my stupid concert polo is. '_Dresser, duh. Or . . . no, I don't think it's dirty. I did laundry last weekend, and I threw it in – I think I folded it . . . OK, dresser, then.'_ And I pull myself through the window. I walk over to the dresser, and I pull out the second-to-the top drawer. Staring at me is this purple polo shirt – our school colors are purple and black – we're the dragons. Brownie points to the music department for choosing purple shirts – I freaking love purple.

I strip off the plaid shirt, throw on a black tank top and the polo shirt – ditched the overalls and threw on my black-with-white pinstriped pants – which were still five inches too long. I rolled them up and shoved my band shoes – which were heels – into my backpack. I pull on some black socks and sneakers – I'll change shoes when I get there, I totally hate those heels. I walk over to the mirror and braid my hair back –

When I hear a knock at my door.

____________________________________________________________________________

"This is her room," She said, going up to a door in the upper hallway, "Don't get all weird – she's a little disorganized." I nodded. She went up to the door and knocked on it.

"Why are you knocking?"

"She's been known to, like, tripwire it – the door – and if you knock, something goes off, and it disables it, or something. She never really told me how it works . . ." She opened the door.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Mom opened the door.

I look at her, ". . . Hi."

She looks at me, puzzled, "How did you even get _in_ here?"

I pointed at the window.

" . . . You didn't."

" . . . I did."

" . . . Why?"

I shrugged, "No idea."

"You have . . . no idea why you climbed through your own window."

"Entertainment purposes?" I tried.

"Sometimes you entertain me – but on other occasions, you worry me."

"Subject change – you coming to the concert? We're playing 'Goldberg Variations'!"

"You didn't know you had a concert tonight, did you." It was a statement – not a question.

". . . maybe."

"What time?"

"Six PM."

"Forty-five minutes – OK." She went to leave.

"One more thing."

"Hmm?

"What the _crap_ is the school Counselor doing here?"

"Oh – I know him. Friend of a friend, all that kinda stuff." She left and closed the door behind her.

I frown. I turn to my desk and look at my laptop. '_What's the name of that guy in all of those books?_ –_ Hannibal Lecter._' Forty-five minutes is a pretty long time – I think I may do some research . . . .

__________________________________________________________________________

I`m tapping my fingers against my leg in the wings of the stage-- We have like, five minutes until we go on. OK, we do choir . . . then we go and close the concert with 'Goldberg' with the band. I turn around and see Knox Velez – he's the guy from my math class, but he's also mom's boss's douche-baggy son – he was staring straight at me, with his hands on his throat, mouthing, '_Choke! Choke!_'

He was referring to my Solo. Actually – my song. It's this awesome song from Phantom Of The Paradise – _Special to me. _ All the idiots think their screeching girlfriends deserved to get a song instead of me – yeah, no. I've been told I could go professional – just because a few people heard me sing a song from a cult movie. _Big. Deal. _I've been practicing this piece for like, a year – who cares?

Oh, yeah – the counselor's Hannibal Lecter. Forgot about that for a minute. Very awkward-platypus.

Bekkah taps my shoulder as we're cued on. We all shuffle onto the risers and we go through the songs – a random Beatles ensemble, 'This Little Light Of Mine', and then, 'Special To Me,'

Our choir director steps up to the podium, and, while pushing the stand in front of him down to his height, talked about my piece.

"Faith Starling will be performing the song 'Special To Me' from The Phantom Of The Paradise – the movie's a weird combination of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame,' 'Phantom Of The Opera,' and 'Faust,' basically. The movie was a bit of a flop here in the U.S., but was – weirdly, -- a big hit in Canada. I guess Canadians like their weird cult-musicals just as much as Faith does, eh?" The audience laughed. "So," he said, "Without further procrastination and offending Canada, here's Faith." He gestured to me on the risers. I was short so, being on the floor instead of truly on the risers; I had no one to step over, which made getting to centerstage much, _much_ easier. I walked up to the mike. Sadly enough, I didn't have to adjust the height.

I cleared my voice and then spoke into the mike. "Hey. You're probably wondering why I'm singing some weird, obscure song that only I know or something, right? Well," I continued, "This song is kinda for my Mom. It's oddly fitting for everything that seems to go on . . . so, here I go."

The music started, it was a really cool, jazzy, pop-ish background music,

"Caught up in your wheelin' dealin' you've got no time left for simple feelin'  
I thought I knew you but I didn't know you at all  
Trapped inside your world of worry you miss so much when you always hurry  
Well slow down baby you'll only get hurt if you fall

Well you told me one time that you'd be somebody  
That you weren't workin' just to survive  
But you're workin' so hard that you don't even know you're alive  
Workin' so hard to be somebody special not working just to survive  
Well you're special to me babe but what I don't see babe is  
Where you go once you arrive  
Where we go once we arrive

Damn all evil that takes possession until your pipe dreams become obsessions  
They scare me baby and we should have nothing to fear  
I'm no child but I can't help wonder it seems like some kind of spell you're under  
You're listenin' baby but somehow you don't really hear

Well you told me one time that you'd be somebody  
That you weren't workin' just to survive  
But you're workin' so hard that you don't even know you're alive  
Workin' so hard to be somebody special not working just to survive  
Well you're special to me babe but what I don't see babe is  
Where you go once you arrive  
Where we go once we arrive . . . ."

The song finished, and I didn't really know what to do, so I just kinda danced off stage.

. . . . The crowd went _W-I-L-D._

_________________________________________________________________________________

Of course, Mom met me outside, all teary-eyed. She was about to hug me when her pager went off. She gets a grumpy kind of look on her face, and looks at it.

"That ass needs to talk to me."

"Chauncy?"

"Exactly. Unfortunately." She pulled out her cell phone and dialled the number. "Hello? Yeah? What?! No, by 'what?!' I mean, 'Holy Shit, are you serious?' Yeah? No? Really? But, this is for real? It is? OK, bye." She hung up. She looked over at me, "Confucius, you've done it again!" She smiled and actually hugged me this time.

"So," I asked, "What happened?"

"Remember what you said the other day about murder being an art and not just an act?"

"Yeah?"

"Turns out that the murderer was an artist – apparently they just apprehended him – and, get this, he murdered people so he could _paint them._ Like, literally pose them and paint them, _in that position_."

"OK," I said, "That's beyond creepy – but it's awesome that they caught him – he being incarcerated or what?"

"He'll be incarcerated until the trial. Then, it's up to the court."

"MMmmk."

Then, Dr. Lecter came out of the building.

Mom looked at him, smiled, and said, "Good News."


	6. Wolves in Sheep's clothing

A/N: I know I've been a little . . . lacking in updates lately, so I'd like to apologize for my lack of attention to my most popular fic.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Mom was about to tell him the news of the arrest, when I smelt something weird.

"Do either of you guys smell a saline drip?" I ask. The air literally smelt like the inside of an IV bag. I don't know how – we were in the back parking lot of a small-town junior-senior high school – what the crap could smell like that?

Mom shrugged, "I don't." But Hannibal slowly nodded. I could feel my nostrils flaring a bit.

_____________________

*Hannibal*

And that's when she bolted off. She was right – there was a smell of saline in the air – like a hospital, but that was no reason for her to run off . . . .

Maybe it didn't smell like a hospital to her, but –

My thoughts were cut off by Clarice pulling up in her Mustang. I turn over to her, "When did you leave?" I ask.

"While you were zoning out into those trees over there. Now get in – we've got to find Faith." I open the door and slide in next to her.

"Well – she's only fourteen –"

"Thirteen. Her birthday's in August."

"Thirteen, so she probably can't run that fast . . ."

"You're talking about a girl who can do a mile in four minutes if she doesn't have an asthma attack, Han."

I was debating everything I didn't know about Faith when I heard the sirens.

_____________________

*Faith*

And that's when I saw Thom lying in the middle of the road with blood all over the ground. I'd had this weird moment in my head, and I followed the scent here, to a car crash.

That wasn't saline that I smelled. It was Thom's blood.

I jog over to him – an ambulance is already there, getting him on a stretcher. I can see a lot of blood on his abdomen. I deafly hear the paramedics ask me who I am. I tell them I'm Faith, I'm his best friend. They say once they get him into the ambulance, I can ride with him to the hospital, because his parents aren't here – he came alone. Out of the corner of my eye – blindly, I see the car. A fancy Buick with Thom's blood all over the hood. And in that hellish car, I see Chauncy and Knox Velez. This barely registers in my brain as I get into the ambulance with Thom. I hear the paramedics ask me if, when we get to the hospital, I can call Thom's parents and tell them about this. I nod. My body runs on auto-pilot, the movements happening – breathing, heart beating, et cetera – but I don't feel it. I can't feel it when I put my hand in his and lightly squeeze.

But I can when I feel a faint squeeze back.

______________________

I can't feel the buttons underneath my fingers as I dial Thom's number. I can't hear myself when I tell his parents what happened. I can't feel it when they both hug me and asked me what exactly happened. I can still taste the scent of Thom's blood in the air, though.

It turns out that he had extensive damage to his abdomen – there's a lot of damage to his internal organs, too. He was immediately whisked off to the OR when we arrived. During the emergency surgery, one of the doctors came out to Thom's parents and I, and told us that he might not make it through the night. His parents cry. I feel hollow.

______________________

*Hannibal*

"I just got a text from Faith," Clarice said. We'd pulled off to the side of the road to elaborate on where she could have gone, and were leaning against the car, "She says she's at the hospital – Thom got hit by a car. He has intensive internal damage and may not make it through the night."

"The sirens . . ." I muse.

"Here's another one. 'Two wolves in sheep's clothing are responsible. They will show no remorse.' What does that mean?"

I frown, "It means she probably saw who did it – and knows that they'll never be sorry that they did it."

She looks to the skies, "But who?" She asks, "Wolves in sheep's clothing? – oh, wait, here's another, 'Only the Farmers can spot the Wolves in sheep's clothing – but the sheep are oblivious to it.'"

I turn away from the road, "Maybe she means that only we know who they are? Or _what_ they are, actually. I doubt that she means 'farmers' literally." I'm mulling through possibilities when Clarice's cell phone beeps again.

"That damn Chauncy, always on my case. Leave me the fuck alone for once!" She raised her voice at the phone.

"Who's Chauncy?" I asked, a hypothesis forming in my head.

"Hmm? My jack ass boss."

"What does everyone else think of him?"

"Ah. Don't get me started – they think he's a saint, a savior – just because he claims he's done my work. And they believe him. And his son's always picking on Faith, which isn't good for his health, in the first place –"

I cut her off, "Two wolves in sheep's clothing?" I ask. She looks at me and her eyes widen with horror.


	7. Lot of meat pies, eh?

A/N: Once again, sorry for the delay. Also sorry for the confusion that can be caused by the narration. The narrator is posted before the segment. (EX. *Faith* (insert plot here) or *Hannibal* (insert plot device and cleverness here)) If there's no name, it means: a) if it's at the beginning of the chapter, it's automatically Faith. OR b) It's just continued from the last narrator. Hope that helps.

A/N: I OWN NOTHING. Except I _do_ keep Clarice locked in a compartment under my bed, and Hannibal locked in my closet. And Mason's corpse (or, as much as I could buy off of Margot, at least) buried under the trampoline. Roger?

ETA: I got an amazing idea a while after I wrote this chapter, and I'm now just re-writing it. Sorry.

______________________________________

*Faith*

"Faith? Faith, dear?"

I open my eyes and see Thom's mom. A little while after I called, Ms. And Ms. Jones had showed up – they're lesbians, _do you have a problem with that? _Because if you do, someone's getting their asses kicked_ – _Julie and Margot. We'd been sitting around and talking for a while. After that, Margot went to talk to the doctors, so it was just me and Julie. I'd almost fallen asleep when she'd started talking to me.

"Hmm? Yeah?" I mumbled.

"Dear, you'd better go home and get some rest." I looked closely at her. She was the kinda woman who, when you'd come home from school, would have an apple pie on the windowsill, and a batch of cookies in the oven. Just like the perfect, stereotypical mom. It both comforts and unsettles me. Mainly comfort, because she's so sweet to me. "It won't do our Thomas any good to have you staying up in a hospital worrying about him. Do you need me to call Clarice?"

I straighten up in the plastic chair, "No, I can take care of that," I say, rubbing my eyes. She was right – I probably shouldn't be falling asleep in public anyway. Personal reasons. I stood up and stretched. I pull out my cell phone to check the time – it was 11:48. TGIFSICSITBTS. 'Thank-God-It's-Friday-So-I-Can-Sleep-In-Tomorrow-Because-Tomorrow's-Saturday.' I sighed and started to text mom to come over here when I see a message from her in my inbox. 'Where are you?' I sigh again. I look again to find three similar messages from mom. I start to type to her that I'm at the hospital and that I need a ride.

__________________________

*Hannibal*

"I say you should get over your stubbornness and just call her." I say, looking out the window, to the stars.

"And _I_ say, as her mother, that she'll contact me when she's ready." Clarice replies, holding the steering wheel in a fierce grip, "You may be a psychiatrist with PhDs how-many-times over, but you seem to know nothing about maternal instinct." She scoffed.

There was a thick silence between us.

"What is she like?"

"What do you mean?" She turns to me.

"What is she like? Faith, I mean."

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. "Curious," She said, "Curious, an anomaly," She shrugged, "Everything. She's my world. If something were to happen to her . . . I don't know what I'd do. She's everywhere. I'll be at work, glancing over a file, and something will just . . . pop out at me and remind me of Faith. She's always in my head – just like you are." She glanced over to me, "I don't know what it is about you two – but, even when you leave, you're still in my head." She sighed, "Faith will leave some day . . . and, even if I never see her again – _yeah right_," she rolled her eyes, "– she'll be with me to my grave. And so will you."

"To your grave," I said. Not a question – never a question. A statement, a fact, floating through the air.

"To my grave," She said, smiling.

_________________________

*Faith*

Outside the hospital, near the parking lot – staring at the sky. We live pretty far out – the town overall is pretty far out – so it's easy to spot the constellations. The big dipper, Leo, all that. I spot what looks like a fish with an afro, too – but I _think_ it's safe to say it's probably jus t me seeing that one. A little bit after that, mom pulls up in the mustang – geez, I think it's a safe bet to say that you can hear that thing a quarter-mile away. I quietly slide into the backseat – shotgun having already been called by Hannibal Lecter – Dr. Lecter? Whatever. I see mom's purse and Dr. Lecter's briefcase on the floor back here. We pull out of the parking lot and head towards home. The radio is on and there's no conversation. I pull a note out of my pocket. I quietly slip it into his suitcase. A personal pseudo-prank – and to make sure this is all for real.

Just to make sure anything is real, now.

________________________

*Hannibal*

Clarice was courteous enough to drop me off by my lodgings – it's not like it's logical to take a _pontoon_ back to my temporary home at this hour – and once inside, I opened up my briefcase.

Inside it was a note – folded in half, with near-chicken scratch handwriting.

"Got a lot of meat pies out of Benjamin Raspail, huh?"


	8. Horrid days

A/N: Once again – I now vow to be way more consistent with updates -- Once a week is my aim, except that's probably gonna be impossible due to school being in session and all. Oh well.

____________________________

*Faith*

The rest of the ride home was quiet. We pulled into the garage and locked the garage door when we came in. The hall lights were flicked on. Upon removing my crappy heels, I noticed that there was a bit of Thom's blood on them. Needless to say, I bolted to the bathroom and threw up at the sight of it. Once all that I was throwing up was bile, and my stomach settled, I sat down on the tile floor against the shower door. My head drooped forward and I was staring into my lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw mom at the doorway.

"This has to be," I muttered, "At _least_ the . . . third, I think, worst day of my life." I wiped my lips off on my arm and stared at the wall in front of me, noticing that some of his blood was on my pants too. The ambulance had just gone into park, and I'd walked over, kneeled down next to him, and checked for a pulse. It had been there, and I hoped it was still there.

"What are the first two?" Mom asked, sitting down next to me on the floor.

I glanced over at her, "You know exactly what the first two are."

She smiled a bit, "Jog my memory." She looked tired. But not in the, this-has-been-a-long-day-and-I-want-to-go-to-bed kinda tired, I mean the weary tired.

"Oh, you know, back when I was like, ten . . . ."

_________

Day one: roughly four years ago:

*10-year-old Faith*

I sigh. School kinda sucks sometimes. Scratch that – all the time. I walked home from school in silence – Mom had told me she'd be late tonight, so I just walked home instead of hitching a ride home with Thom like I normally do – I don't quite know why, I just felt like walking. It's fall, so that adds happiness to my mild sulking. We live a little . . . 'out there', so to speak -- A nice, large house by the lake, no neighbors for like, a mile – all peace and quiet. It's like, you could hear a _ninja_ out here! I mean, how cool is that? Hehe, 'Faith Starling, Ninja Detector!' Me and Thom have to script that or something, I thought, approaching the house. I pull out my key and open the door. I toss my backpack into the corner and hang my sweatshirt up in the hall closet. I was walking toward the kitchen when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, and it said 'Mom's office: 555-6726,' so I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Faith? Faith Starling?"

"You're talkin' to her."

"Yes, Faith – it's Alec – y'know, from your mom's work?"

"Yeah, Alec, I've known you for like, two years."

"Sorry – but, I hate to say this, but something's happened to your mom, Faith."

I dropped the phone with a _thud_ and stood there for a second.

"Faith? Faith?!" I could hear Alec on the phone – it was on the floor. I blinked for a few seconds and tried to regain control. I'd known something like this could happen for years – but I never really thought it would. It just seemed . . . improbable. I numbly put the phone on 'speaker' so that Alec would know I'm OK.

"I'm fine, Alec," I said in a small voice.

I could hear him sigh, "That's good," he paused for a second, "Faith, I know you guys live a bit out of the way, but you should probably come down. Do you need a ride?"

"No. Where – the department or the hospital or what?"

"The hospital – the ER. One of us'll be there to meet you."

"Thanks Alec. I'll be right down. Give me fifteen, twenty minutes and I'll leave, OK?"

"OK."

I was about to pick up the phone and press 'end,' when I heard, "And Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"You shouldn't have to go through all this. I mean, you're an only child with a single mother, who's in a line of work where she can be incapacitated or killed any day. Life just shouldn't work out that way."

"Well . . . maybe I have this life because I'm the only one who can handle it." I say quietly, numbly.

"Faith, you know all of us down here love you, right?"

"I know." I press end.

________________________

I put the phone down on the charger and stared at it for a moment. I try and swallow the huge lump in my throat – but it simply won't go down. I look around at the walls – framed pictures of mom and I on family trips, or just random candid shots. They're all in black and white, simply because we agreed it looked better that way. I see one of mom holding me, when I was a baby – another one of us at the shooting range. They're all hung up at various heights, seemingly at random places. I look down at the carpet, at my Batman socks. I walk towards the kitchen and though the doorless entrance. I open the fridge, get out some leftovers and stuff, and proceed to make myself a meatloaf sandwich. I throw that – wrapped in Saran Wrap, a blue Gatorade, a soyjoy bar and an apple in a brown paper bag which I shoved in my backpack, which I emptied out. I ran up to my bedroom – which is a loft (I freakin' love my loft!) – and grabbed a few books off my shelf: _A Wrinkle In Time, The Handmaid's Tale, The Dark Half, _and _Z is for Zachariah._ A good mix – it's likely that I'll be there for a while, so I might as well have good reading material. I climbed up the ladder into the actual loft area, where my bed is, and looked around for other things I might need. I looked at my bed – neatly made, with the pillows lined up the way I like them – and saw Nathan. My stuffed sheep. He's old and tattered and his black wooly back is fading, and he is actually the most comforting item I can think of. I shiftily look around – which is ridiculous (it's not like anyone can see me) – and hastily grab Nathan to put in my backpack. I smiled, mom always said that a black sheep was an appropriate animal for me. Instead of using the ladder, I jump down from the loft like a ninja – landing on all fours. I walk over to my desk and pick my books up off of there, and head back downstairs.

___________________

It takes me ten minutes to bike into town. Another five to bike to the hospital. When I finally get there, I lock my bike to a nearby lamppost, and jog over to the emergency room entrance. The automatic doors open – well, automatically – and I step inside. I see all sorts of FBI agents, standing around, sitting down, chatting, I saw various people making phone calls, and all sorts of other stuff. I adjust my backpack on my shoulders and look around for Alec. I don't see him – he might be talking to the staff or something – so I just stand there awkwardly.

Mom works in a nearby branch of the FBI – I don't quite know why all of these agents are here, though. I mean, yeah, this area of Minnesota has a lower crime rate, but there's gotta be _something_ that all of these people ought to be doing, right? I ponder this while brushing lint off of my _Thundercats _shirt. Glancing around, I recognize a lot of these people -- Darren Bores, Torrid Roster, Cynthia Neuman, Chauncy Velez – it's like everyone's here. It gives me an eerie feeling, like having more people here actually makes me feel even more alone.

I decide to take a risk and ask the staff how my mom's doing. Or even just ask what happened. So I walk up to the desk.

The woman looked up at me, "Hello, how can I help you?" She looked a little frazzled – probably because of all the random FBI activity.

"Uh, yeah," I stuttered, "I'm Faith Starling – my mom, Clarice, was admitted here a while ago, apparently. I'd like to know how she's doing and what happened."

Her eyes widened, "Oh, oh, _you're_ Faith. I'll get a doctor to escort you up to your Mom – but I'll tell you how she is and as much as I know of what happened. You mother came in with a bullet in her neck and one in her chest. The one in the neck narrowly missed the jugular, and the one in her chest did some pretty bad damage, and just got her lung, but nothing fatal. She's in the ICU right now. . . . I just paged Dr. Zach that you're here. This guy, Alec Emmerson – do you know him?"

"Yeah."

"He came up and told us that when you get here, if you're mom's in the clear, to send you up."

"Ok then. Makes sense to me."

She looked up at me with wide eyes for a moment, "I'm so sorry, dear."

I frown, "Well, it could be worse."

"But it's still nothing a girl your age should have to go through."

"Just another day in the life, ma'am." I said.

_______________________________

The doctor was down in a matter of minutes and escorted me up to the second-floor ICU. He's a very chatty guy – not really a bad thing, but it gets old after a while – who, when we got to the room, briefly checked her stats, wrote some things down, and left. I sighed, set my backpack down, and took a seat in one of the scantily-padded chairs. I looked down at my purple converse and frowned.

A few minutes later, Alec bounced in with a gale of vending-machine food.

"Hey kiddo, how ya holdin' up?" He asked, taking a seat next to me.

"Meh. I'm a little jumpy, a little freaked out, nothing that out of the ordinary." I sighed.

Alec shuffled through the things in his man-bag until he produced a black folder. He flipped around until he was at a certain page, "This is your mom's protocol file – if a specific emergency is to occur, we're to call specific people. You're under every one, along with Ardelia's number, and one unnamed one. You recognize it?" He handed the file to me.

I looked it over and didn't recognize it, "All I can tell from that number is that when you call it, you'll get a machine. It's one of those numbers that when you call it, all you can do is leave a message. It's like a P.O. box, but like . . . with phones, I think." I said, handing the folder back over.

"Ok, just wanted to make sure. I called and left a message a little while ago – so, everything's taken care of -- Ardelia's flying out as we speak, and you're here, so I think we're good to go." He said, putting the folder back. He looked back at me, "I don't' quite know what we should do about you, though. I mean, you have school tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," I say, "But word travels fast in this town. There's no doubt that everyone'll know by 8:00 tonight. I think I'm Ok to stay home from school tomorrow, Alec."

________________________________________

By 7:00 Ardelia had arrived. She gave me a quick hug and we talked for a while. At this point, all I had left was half a Gatorade and my Soyjoy bar. I told Ardelia that she could stay with us – well, with me – and, it nearing nighttime, she accepted. She'd rented a car, and we packed my bike in the back and went home. Ardelia made a few phone calls when we got home, but I just kind of crashed in my loft with my duckie pajamas on, and Nathan snuggled up to me.


	9. bitchin' in the kitchen

A/N: I appreciate reviews! I'm cranking out this chapter a little early because I wanted to start on some new plot devices. Enjoy!

__________________________

*Ardelia*

Clarice got shot. Didn't see that one coming. It was incredulous to get that call from that Alec guy – I swear on Clarice's hospital bed that that guy is gay, though – and hear the news. Faith's a wreck, too – she's always at least a bit upbeat, but at this point, I'm getting _really_ concerned for her. Faith directed me to their house – very nice place. Pretty big, and it's relatively organized, too. At about 8:30, Faith crashed in bed. I stayed up for a little while more before hitting the guestroom sack myself.

*4:00 that morning*

I was asleep until this weird noise woke me up. I blinked a little, looked around, and realized it was still nighttime. I roll over to the night stand and look at the clock. It was 4:00AM. The sound abruptly stopped. I sat up and got out of bed. I walked through the hallway and nothing seemed out of place. I hoped it wasn't a burglar or something – then I'd have to dish out some serious whoopass. When I come to the landing, I see the kitchen light on. I smelt something good – and when I say good, I mean _g-o-o-d._ I walked down to the kitchen to see Faith, delicately taking muffins out of pans. She's covered in flour and doesn't seem to notice me when I come in. When all the muffins are on a cooling rack, she places the tin in the left-hand sink – which is full of bubbly water. She scoops a bowl out of the right-hand sink and sets it on the counter. She starts mixing ingredients in the bowl until the stuff is thick. She pushes the bowl to her left and dusts the counter with flour. She dumps the dough out on it and starts kneading it. After a minute, she goes to the refrigerator and takes out a bowl full of what looks like freshly washed blueberries. She carefully kneads these into the dough. She pats the dough into a thick circle and cuts it into wedges. She puts down the knife and turns around to get something.

"What the hell're you doing?" I blurt out.

"AAH!" Faith gasps. I'm suddenly very thankful she put down the knife.

"You OK Faith? What are you doing up _baking_ at 4:00AM?"

She puts her hand on her chest for a second, "Hey Ardelia. I'm fine." I see that her right eye is slightly twitching, "Sorry. I bake when I'm nervous or anxious or whatever. Probably should have told you that."

"So . . . what happened? I mean, why are you up at 4:00AM.?"

"Oh, that." She grabs a cookie sheet from a cupboard, "I had a nightmare. I couldn't get back to sleep, but then I realized that the nightmare had actually happened, so I got freaked out over mom again. So then I baked. I mean, I _am_ baking, sorry." She chuckled a little.

I laughed a bit myself, "Your mom does laundry when she's nervous, or thinking too much," I smile, remembering school, "So, what're you baking here?"

She took a deep breath, "Well, I just got muffins out of the oven, the croissants should be done in like, five minutes, and I'm currently making blueberry scones. I already made three different kinds of cookies, too. Any requests?" She starts putting the wedges of scone dough on the cookie sheet.

I pull a face, "Pie." I say.

Her expression is one of intense focus, "What kind of pie? French silk, apple, pumpkin, zucchini, peach, what?"

"Hmm," I mock-ponder for a bit, "I'm up for a French silk, myself. What about you?"

She smiles, "French silk's one of the best. Sounds good to me. Once I get the croissants out and the scones in the other oven, I'll start on that."

"Other oven?"

She points over to the corner of the room. "Oh." The house is about forty years old, so they have an older style of oven. They're narrower by a few inches, but there's two of them – one on top of the other. "That must be efficient."

"Yeah. So what're you going to do now that you're up?"

Good question. I stare at her for a minute, "Well, how about I stay up and you let me in on some of that croissant action?"

"Sounds OK to me." She picks up the cookie sheet and walks over to the oven, sliding the pan into the bottom oven. Right then, the buzzer of the top one went off.

-- _That's_ the sound that woke me up! While I marveled in how an oven buzzer could be so loud, Faith grabbed some oven mitts from the counter, shut off the buzzer, and slid some beautiful croissants out – half of which appeared to be chocolate. I smiled. I may just have to ask Clarice if I can stay here a bit longer after she's out of the hospital.

_If_ she gets out.

___________________________

*Hannibal*

My machine got a beep the other day, while I was feeding Clarence. I continued carefully dusting his crickets with Citra-cal and watching him 'hunt' them. My beautiful little beardie was very satisfied with his meal. Bearded dragons are very interesting creatures, you know – perfectly content in captivity, if well cared for. When he was finished and contentedly resting under his heat lamp, I walked over to my machine and checked what the beep was about.

"Hello, this is Alec Emmerson, with the Central Minnesota branch of the FBI – I'm calling because Clarice Starling has sustained a potentially life threatening injury. I was told to call this number in case of any emergency. If you got this message by mistake, feel free to call this number . . ."

I pressed stop. I stared at the wall for a few moments, letting this seep in. Something has happened to Clarice. Closing my eyes, I remembered a conversation from years and years ago.

_"Han, they won't be able to trace the number to you."_

_"So it's just a precaution? The FBI won't be calling me at all hours of the night?" I asked, jokingly._

_"Just a precaution. I've got three contacts – you, Ardelia, and Faith. It's just in case something happens to me. I need someone to make sure Faith's OK."_

_"And you trust me to this task?"_

_"You're her father."_

_"That I am, but that's no argument."_

_"You're her father, and I doubt that you would reveal yourself, or eat her, 'kay?"_

_"Fine then. I won't reveal myself, and I'm not even going to dignify that last option with a response."_

_She smiled, "Fine."_

_I read her expression, "Not fine?"_

_"Well," She hesitated, looking at the bundle in her arms, "I'm still not fine about your decision to not be a part of this."_

_"I want you two to have a life free of running from authorities. I would say I want you to have a _normal_ life, but I would speculate that it would be impossible for Faith, considering her parents!"_

_Clarice laughed a bit, "Yes, I think we lack the 'normal' genome." She stroked Faith's hair. The baby opened its eyes. A dark, pretty maroon. Bright, alert eyes._

I opened my own maroon eyes. I told Clarice, years ago, that I'd watch over Faith – from a distance, per my vow – in an emergency.

And that's exactly what I shall do.


	10. Morning for Faith

A/N_**: I'd like to remind you that I've updated chapter seven, 'lot of meat pies, eh?' Because I got a brilliant idea after reading 'Hannibal.'**_ Reviews and ratings are always appreciated by me! Also, I will continue with this fic until I deem it appropriate to stop, and then start the sequel fic, 'Faith isn't Faith until she's all you're holding on to.' (The title is going to change, definitely.) Oh, and happy tenthennial chapter-versary, Faith! And I'd like to remind everyone that the story is still taking place in Faith's 'worst day' flashback, when she's ten, contrary to her thirteen year old, present self narrative.

__________________________________________________________________

*Faith*

Ardelia bit into a croissant. "So, what do your mom and you do out here, all alone?"

We were sitting at the table in the kitchen, munching at various baked goods. "Well," I considered the question while picking up a scone, "We raise sheep. Not for slaughter, for wool. When they get old enough, we do send them off to slaughter, but we make sure it's very humane, and we only use it as a last resort. We also have chickens, and then there's Piddles."

She gave me a weird look, "Piddles?"

"Our cow. She's quite the beaut, actually. Brown, not the stereotypically black-and-white cow. Nice, calm girl, easy to milk, too." I looked at my watch, "Actually, I have to go out and milk her in a bit, and then I'll have to check up on the chickens, for eggs. And we'll have to shear the sheep soon, so they can start growing thick wool for winter . . . ." I trailed off, "And we've been thinking about breeding Piddles in the spring. She'd be a good mother."

"OK, so you raise farm animals, obviously. What else? Clarice still works for the Bureau, right?"

"Yeah, the nearest branch, that is. Horrible hours, though."

"Yeah. The hours are some of the crappiest I've seen," She paused, "No horses?"

I shrugged, "We've been thinking about it. We're not quite sure about it yet, though." I shoved the rest of the scone in my mouth and got up from the table, "Sorry, but I've gotta go milk Piddles. She's already got to be a little distressed that I had to call someone to come and milk her last night. She'll be either really happy to see me, or really ticked off." I walked from the kitchen down to the landing near the front door. I pulled on a coat – the mornings were getting colder with winter sneaking up on us – grabbed a flashlight and opened the front door.

The fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks. It's about six and it's still a bit dark out. I shine the flashlight at the barn door and walk on over. I pull the keys to the door out of my coat pocket and stick them into the padlock. Shouldering the door open, I pull the lightbulb string above me and turn off the flashlight. I put the flashlight up on a higher shelf and grabbed a bucket off the floor. I shove my keys back into my pocket and hang up my coat on one of the coat pegs on the back of the door. I walk through the barn over to Piddles' little area.

"Hey girl, how are you?" I said, petting her nose, "Bet you missed me. I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night, something happened to Mom and I couldn't get here in time to milk you, gal. I hope you're OK with that." She stared at me for a moment, "Oh, the silent treatment, eh?" I muttered, grabbing a nearby stool to sit on, "C`mon, it's not my fault!" I told her, "I already told you that something happened to mom, girl!" She looked me straight in the eyes for another minute and then mooed in agreement. I sighed, "Thanks Piddles."

Reassured, I sat down and started milking. It was a smooth process, only taking about 13 minutes. I got up off the stool, petted Piddles again, and grabbed the bucket to take into the house for bottling. I put it in the fridge and came back to the barn to let Piddles out to graze.

By this point in time, the sun was a bit higher in the sky, and Piddles immediately started eating fresh grass off the ground. I dusted off my hands and went to tend to the chickens. Scooping up some feed, I went and spread it out for the hens – but not before checking under them for eggs – some of which I took. After replacing each hen in her nest, I head back inside with a basket full of eggs. I place these in the fridge, and decide to pasteurize the milk later.

"So," Ardelia asked – I looked over and in the time she had gone, she had eaten all the croissants and was now delving into the muffins, "You do this every day, by yourself?"

"No, Mom normally helps. I usually do the milking while she does the chickens."

"What about the lambs?"

"We feed them in an hour or so and then let them out to meander around outside."

"Hm. OK then. What do you do 'til then?"

"Nothing. We usually have breakfast, or something, but that's all said and done, I guess."

"So what're you gonna do?"

"I think I might just go for a run. Try to work out a bit of stress."

"Well, I'm gonna stay here and help myself to some of these cookies, `kay? Oh, and be safe out there, because if you get hurt, your mom will personally hunt me down and kill me, alright?"

"Sounds good to me." The air was warming up, so I exchanged my coat for a sweatshirt. Grabbing my iPod, I walked out the door and made my way to the road. I slowly yet surely started into a jog, working my way to a run, and eventually a sprint. My hair flew back from my face as I wound my way through the early-morning country roads. My feet hitting the dirt roads at a fast pace brings me an odd type of comfort.

I like losing myself in running. The wind hitting my cheeks, the fresh air, the speed itself, it all does wonders for my psyche and general mindset.

I saw a lone car during my run – a supercharged jaguar – going the opposite direction, right as I had started to slow down from my sprint. I put no thought to it besides a quick admiration of their taste in cars.

I was too absorbed in my running.

*Hannibal*

It took me a while to find the small town, and I was taken aback by the population: _2,531._ Clarice was right, this place _was_ secluded. I wound through the streets early in the morning. I hadn't quite got a plan in mind, though. I suppose I'd find a place to stay and find a way to see Faith in passing.

I accidentally over estimated the distance and ended up in the countryside. The streets were dirt and I cursed myself for not driving my truck here. It would have blended in more easily in the environment, and I don't mind it getting dirty as much as the jaguar. It was in the outskirts that I finally admitted to myself that I was lost. I decided to keep driving and just take the next turn, and ride it to wherever it takes me.

I took the next turn and it led me down a long road, lined with corn. I was marveling at the amount of corn someone could stand to grow and harvest when I saw another figure steadily approaching me on the other side of the road. I kept my eyes on my side of the road, but my peripheral vision got the details of the figure.

With the shock, I could feel my pupils dilating. I stared as she passed and stayed shocked for a bit after that. Another mile down the road I made an illegal u-turn and followed her. She was wearing headphones, and I hoped she wouldn't notice me. She was easily going six miles an hour and I found it easy to keep up with her while staying at a safe distance.

One would argue that I'm stalking her, but that's simply not the case. It's just to make sure it's her – and to make sure that she's alright.

Just to make sure.


	11. Night Terrors

A/N: I had something cool happening in this chapter (an epic Nerf war between Faith and Thom) but I decided to take it in another direction and do something with that later. Once again, I live for reviews. Every day I see my inbox empty, lacking e-mails saying 'new review for 'Keeping Faith'', I think a little more hastily about sending Faith to attack you with a bottle of glue. Comprende?

____________________________________________

*Faith*

*Present*

I blinked at the bathroom sink. "Keep going," Mom said.

I frowned, "Well, nothing much actually happened that was horrible after that. At about one A.M. you snapped out of your freaky, semi-conscious state, Ardelia left two days later with a metric ton of baked goods, and everything's been good since then."

"What was the other day then?"

"That time when I accidentally locked myself in that filing cabinet. Remember that one?"

She laughed a little, "They had to get the fire department in there to get you out because no one had the key to the cabinet."

I sent her a death stare, "Hey, that was _not funny – _I mean, I was freaking _six! _It's scary, and now I have serious claustrophobia issues because of that stupid filing cabinet."

There was an awkward silence between us. I considered telling her about my findings – but she may have already guessed I knew. I'll let it wait for a while.

"I'm drawn between going for a run and going to bed." I blurted out.

"Same here. I vote that we just go and crash." She looked over to me, "You wanna soak the bloodied stuff and sleep in the living room with me?"

It was our solution to stress – fall asleep in the living room watching movies. It normally works, and I was willing to try anything to calm my nerves. I looked over at her out of the corner of my eye, "It's club soda that gets blood out of shit, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's just baking soda and water. Better yet, use baking soda and vinegar."

"You learn that at Quantico?"

"Yeah right! I learnt how to _preserve _blood, not get rid of it."

__________________________________________

I'm falling. I'm falling through . . . nothing, I guess. The wind is whipping against my face. I'm tumbling through the air, unable to stop myself in any way.

And then I hit the ground – what feels like a million pounds of pressure hitting me straight on. I can't breathe. It's almost as if I'm paralyzed – crumpled on the ground, unable to move, I'm scared to death.

That's when I realize, '_This must be how Thom felt when he got hit, and he probably kept feeling like this until he was put under . . .'_

The next thing I know, I'm standing in the middle of a grassy field, surrounded by low, rolling hills. The wind is lightly rustling the grass around me. The grass is tickly on my bare feet – '_man, I'm as pale as a freakin' vampire, aren't I?' _I noted, looking down at my feet. In the moment it took for me to blink, the scenery had changed. There seemed to be a million people surrounding me – which made me completely uncomfortable. The sky seemed to be filled with noxious air, and everyone was bustling around me, not even noting the presence of a strange person in their environment. I could barely breathe this air – it was that toxic. I went into a coughing fit, and when I opened my eyes again, the scene had changed yet again. The entire room was white. I was sitting in the middle of it, alone, but . . . with company, it seemed.

It's like, I was by myself, but with someone else, too. Someone else and I were alone . . . together – if that makes any sense. There were two people looking in at me through a window in the door. The door was locked – well, it doesn't look locked, but I just _know_ that it actually is. They're just kinda . . . staring at me. I stare back at them. The door is suddenly blown down – and Hannibal Lecter's there. He helps me up and then suddenly there are ninjas everywhere.

I bolt up, awake, and something black flies at me. Thinking it's a ninja, I bat it away – only to find out that it's just Nathan.

" . . . Nathan, where did you just fly down from?" I asked him, aloud. I then realized that I was talking to a stuffed sheep. "OK, I doubt that life can get any more confusing than it is right now." I muttered. I looked up at the clock in the living room – where Mom and I had crashed earlier – and it was 4:38 A.M. I sighed.

"Faith?" I heard mom mumble, "You OK?" She turned to face me, "You were having another night terror, weren't you?" She asked, stroking my hair.

"Kinda," I said, resting my head in my hands, I sighed again, "I think I'll go out for a run. I doubt that I'll be able to get back to sleep."

"Sure," Mom said, laying back down on the couch, "Just remember to stash some mace in a pocket or something – don't want anything happening."

"Fine, fine." I said, getting up. I washed my face, threw on some sweats, pulled my hair into a ponytail and set off.

There's this nice woodsy area near our house. There's a trail, but it's been long grown over. I go running back here sometimes, and it's quite pleasant. The moonlight leaks through the branches, still re-sprouting their leaves, and bathes the ground in its robust glow. I come to a spot with a view of the lake behind our house and it appears to sparkle in the lunar light. I take a few deep breaths and keep running along what's left of the path.

And that's when I – quite literally – run into Hannibal Lecter.

*Hannibal*

Don't jump to any conclusions – I was observing. Nothing more, nothing less. Seeing her romp through the woods gave me a feel of her personality – similar to her mother's, similar to mine. I had heard something behind me, and had turned my head to observe, when Faith ran into me.

And, inertia being the way it is, the weight of something makes it harder to move and to stop moving, and, while Faith wasn't very heavy – in fact, she looked quite underweight – with her speed, she took us both to the ground.

She rolled off of me and lifted herself up onto her feet, "Man, you just keep turning up, don't you? You're like a bad penny." She said, brushing leaves off of her pants.

She stuck out a hand. It took me a moment to register that she was offering to help me up. I took her hand – quite small in comparison to mine – and was pulled to my feet by a strength, wiry and hidden within small arms.

"Hey, I never – somehow, with our continuous running into each other, I never got your name." she said.

"Oh, sorry. I am Doctor Olekas."

"Ooh, Lithuanian. Well, nice to formally meet you, Doc, even in a . . . weird setting." She enunciates.

"Well, thank you." I paused for a moment, "What are you doing out here this early?"

"I could ask you the same question, but I'll answer yours first – to be polite. I have night terrors, so when I wake up in the middle of the night on the verge of a breakdown, I go for a run. And you?"

"Couldn't sleep myself. I'm thinking too much, so it's hard to get everything wound down so I can actually get some REM."

She nodded, and then her phone beeped. She quickly checked – it was a message from her mother. Her expression didn't change in the slightest as she read. She slipped her phone back into the pockets of her sweatpants. "Mom's awake, if you want to stop by."

"It might look a little conspicuous, if we come in a small timeframe."

"Then we'll have to by inconspicuous. You take the direct route, I'll take the long route. I'll get there about fifteen-twenty minutes after you -- nothing to inquire about on mom's part." She smiled.

I smiled back. If I were to inquire about the note, I'd do it in front of Clarice, too. "Well, I'll see you in a bit, then." I turned on my heel and set towards their home.

*Faith*

That was kinda weird. As I walked the long way, I got a text from Julie – Thom's mom (well, one of them). Apparently, the just took Thom off of his respirator. Good sign, very good sign.

As I head towards the house, a quote from a Motion City Soundtrack song came into my head,

_"With all my dreams hooked to hospital machines/ I think, let's try redefining beautiful!"**_

_(**Song is 'Point of Extinction' by the band Motion City Soundtrack, on the album 'Even If It kills me')_


	12. Chaos, Carjack, Cannibal

A/N: Another chapter! Finally! I apologize for my failness --- **Margot's life partner's name is JUDY not JULIE.** I somehow just caught this. I'm very sorry for my stupidity – when I have time I'll go back and change it.

* * *

*Faith*

I was looking through all of my missed texts on the long walk back home. Most were from Judy, a few from Margot, and a couple from my friend Tim. I ran my tongue along my braces and moved on to the next message. When I was nearing the house, Flynn caught up with me – he must have exited through the cat flap in the back door. I put my phone in my pocket and scooped him up. He didn't weigh much – he was actually relatively small for a male platypus – and his spurs were successfully removed by a local vet.

"Hey bud. How's it goin'?" He blinked at me, "Nothing much, huh? Nothing interesting ever happens here, does it?" I put him back down and continued walking, with Flynn flanking me.

My phone beeped. I looked down, and it was a message from Judy. I was approaching the house, with its lit windows and warmth when I tapped 'open' on the touch screen. The words on the screen, typed with perfect grammar, punctuation and spelling portrayed great news. Thom was awake, and apparently wanted to talk to me. My breath caught and I stopped in my tracks. I wasn't sure whether to be concerned or relieved or overjoyed or what. I responded asking her if he wanted me there now or later. Her reply: He wants you here now. I frowned. The hospital was in town, about seven minutes away by car – and, the fact being that I'm nowhere near legal driving age, I'd have to take my bike or run.

Or steal Mom's car – but that's not really my thing, y'know?

* * *

*Hannibal*

At the doorstep, I decided to be a gentleman and knock on the door – instead of sneaking inside, _ala Faith_, and scaring her half to death. She opened the door.

"What the Hell are you doing, creeping around out here at four in the morning?!"

"Clarice, as you well know, I do not _creep,_ as you phrase it."

"OK, how about _stalk?_"

"I prefer _pursue_ to _stalk._"

"Fine. What are you doing out here, _pursuing_ at four in the morning? – Is _that_ correct?"

"Yes, it is, and I was doing nothing. I was out taking a stroll and I spotted that almost all the lights in your . . . _humble abode,_" I could think of no other word for the house, "I thought something might be amiss, so I came to inquire."

She frowned at him. "I doubt that story," She said, "But, it being very, very early on a weekend and myself having not had coffee, I can't think of anything."

There was an awkward silence between us.

"Well, Clarice, it being four in the morning on a Saturday, and yourself not having had coffee," I said, poking a bit of fun at her, "I'll just invite myself in." I said, walking past her.

I calmly strolled into the kitchen – very nice, all the fixtures and such – and put on a pot of coffee. The brand was relatively good – I wasn't expecting as much from Clarice.

A moment later, Faith appeared, along with the cloud of chaos that seems to follow her – all I made out was "Mom, I need to steal the car again," and "No time to explain, the texts will explain for me," before she set off in a flurry to – apparently – find her mother's keys. By the time all this was over, the coffee had started to brew. Clarice was holding Faith's phone – reading over the explanatory texts, I assumed. I was a bit dazed after the Chaos left.

* * *

*Faith*

After I stormed in and (I think) unsettled Hannibal Lecter, I set off in search of the keys to the Mustang. Yes. I am totally stealing my mother's car. Yes, I have done this before. No, I do not do this on a regular basis. I was digging around the mudroom for them – looking through coat pockets, purses, et cetera – and was just about to yell out in anguish, 'Screw it! I'll just hotwire the dang thing!' when I felt something in a pocket. Joyous, I lift it out . . . to realize that it's just a twenty dollar bill. I frown – but not before realizing it was from _my coat_ and shoving it in my pocket – and throw on my shoes.

* * *

*Hannibal*

Outside, I hear an engine roar. I assume she found the keys – but Clarice's face tells me otherwise. A look of confusion crosses her face, followed by one of shock, then anger, then mild surprise. She puts down her coffee cup, grabs a ring of keys off the counter, and walks outside. I catch up to her – and she turns around, with a look of angst on her face, "They told me the damn car was tamper proof," She said, shaking her head.

She walks up to the car, shares a few words with Faith, and hands her the keys and her cell phone. "I'll be there whenever you need. Just text me and I'll come into town, OK?" Faith responds with a nod and backs out of the driveway. She walks over to stand by me.

"Did you _really_ just let your thirteen year old daughter hotwire and take your car? _Really?_" I asked.

"Yeah," She responded, tightening the belt on her bathrobe, "It's happened before."

"I won't ask."

"Don't."

"Does she know how to drive properly, at least?"

"Yes. I taught her like, two years ago."

"You taught her to drive when she was eleven."

"Emergencies?" She tried.

"I'll grant you that – but who taught her to hotwire cars?" I inquired.

"Don't look at me like that," she cringed a bit, "She taught herself that stuff. To hotwire cars, pick locks, break codes and crap – I taught her _nothing of the sort, _OK?" She said, exasperated, "She just kind of . . . _picks up_ all of this stuff. I don't know how she does it – she reads it somewhere, and somehow perfects the method in two hours. She's like Macgyver, or something. Put her in tight bonds hanging off the top of an insanely tall building with nothing but a paper clip, a gift card, a novelty hat, and a rubber duck – and she'll find her way out of that situation safely."

"I hardly believe that example."

"If you were me, you'd think it wasn't insane enough."


	13. Carjack, Catchup, Cannibal Child

A/N: Sorry for the delay!

* * *

*Faith*

The CD Player was blasting in the Mustang.

_'I thought it for a long time now,_

_While drowning in a river of denial,_

_I washed up picked up fixed up all my broken things,'_

_"Oh-oh-oh how was I supposed to know" _I belted with the song, "_That you where oh-oh-over me, I think that I should go – GO -- something's telling me to leave, but I won't – cause I'm damned if I do ya, damned if I don't."_

Flying by the cornfields that have forever bordered my life – I feel free. The song ends and switches to the next track on the CD – _Misery,_ by Good Charlotte.

_'Take a look around – don't you see it? See that you are the only real face in the room . . .'_

That's how I feel sometimes, strangely. Everyone sometimes seems fake to me. The 'Welcome!' sign at the city border is barely visible as I whiz past.

'_So you're tired of running, you're tired of hurting,_

_You're tired of living in their lie, you're tired of listening,_

_You're tired of hurting – keep your sadness alive.'_

A few miles past the city border I cross the bridge above Snake River, past a few gas stations and the elementary school. Another mile and I turn the blinker on and drive into the hospital parking lot. Barely registering the speed bumps, I back into a space. I exit, locking the doors – just in case – and calmly walk into the hospital entrance.

Judy had texted me the room number, so they just gave me a visitor's pass and sent me up. I walked past the newborn babies and into the ICU. I reached the room – but the door was closed, with the little plastic flag up next to it for privacy. Being myself, I put my ear to the door. Within a few words, I figured out who was talking.

Thom and his stupid, bitch of a girlfriend – Tonya. The name is the epitome of bitch, am I right? I scowled to myself in the dim of the hallway. I'd kept telling him to break up with her – she was no good. She only had looks going for her, basically. She was, well, to put it gently – _fucking stupid._

_'I don't know what's wrong with you! You're acting as if I don't know you.' _Thom.

'_It must be you. Because it's certainly not moi.' _Tonya. Because using French words you picked up off of TV in your everyday vocabulary is _sooo cool._

'_What, are you dumping me because I got _hit by a car?!_' _Thom.

'_Well, maybe I am.'_ Tonya. Because actually not being sure of the reason you're dumping the guy is also _sooo cool._

I heard footsteps approach the door, '_Oh, and Tommy? I've been cheating on you. Tootles,' _Tonya. Leaving. I stepped away from the door as the bitch goddess herself emerges. She sneers at me in her high heels and slut-tastic mini skirt.

"Hey freak. When did the bag-lady parade come into town? Y'know, since you dress like one." She laughed at her own obviousness – oblivious to her own stupidity.

"Actually, it's coming in once the slut parade is gone – and it seems to be leaving in a few minutes. You better hurry to catch up, Tonya, or they'll leave without you." I smirked.

She scoffed and did one of those really, _really_ annoying hair-flips, clicking away on the linoleum in her designer pumps. Well, that encounter did nothing to brighten my day. My converse softly hit the tile as I walked into the room, absentmindedly flipping down the 'privacy' flag next to the door with my hand.

*Thom*

Got-damn. After breaking up with Tonya, Faith is a sight for sore eyes.

"You look like shit." I say.

She smiles and looks over at me, "Speak for yourself," she paused, dumping her bag on the empty hospital bed beside mine, "OK, you just broke up. That'll make my arsenal five times better. I brought Rent, Shock Treatment, the s'mores maker, and Fluxx. It's Saturday. What do you want to do first?"

I contemplated, "What version of Fluxx?"

She smiled – she looks so much friendlier when she smiles. I don't know why she doesn't do it more often, "I have Zombie, Monty Python, Original, and Stoner."

"Hmm. OK, plug in the s'mores maker, pop in Rent, and hand over Monty Python Fluxx." I said.

She tossed the Fluxx deck over to my bed, and dragged the table between the two beds closer. She plugged the s'mores maker in on the end closer to the wall. Then, she walked over to the flat screen on the wall – right next to the picture of Jesus with part of his face scratched – and desperately tried to reach the DVD player above it. Faith, at a mere 5' 0" can reach almost nothing. Fortunately, a nurse came in to check up on me.

"Excuse me," Faith said, putting on her 'polite, innocent, perfectly adorable' face, "Could I get a wee bit of help here? I'm a bit short." The nurse gladly complied. My stats were checked and she left. Faith played with the remote to turn on the captions, and we dealt out the deck.

*Faith*

"Ha!" I slammed a card down on the table, "Coconut, and unladen Swallow! I win!" I gather up the cards and shuffle them. The room is full of the sounds of Angel Dumott Schunard's epic beats – if you haven't seen Rent, you won't get this – and the smell of marshmallows. At this point, it was about six in the morning.

I pop the remaining half of my s'more in my mouth and re-deal the cards. I place down the original rules card and make the first move.

*Clarice*

Two hours of catching up with an old friend (and lover) may be exciting for some, but for me, it's simply terrifying. We'd had only a few moments to talk yesterday – and there were so many details I'd missed. I'd forgotten how little he moves. Every time he _did_ move, I jumped a bit. He pretended not to notice. I'd forgotten the deepness of his stare . . . had it really been this long? Yes, yes it had.

We'd been getting deep into the conversation – what he's been up to, what I've been up to, but most of all, Faith – when my pager beeped. A dreaded name scrolled across the small screen.

"Gotdam, will you leave me alone?" I growled at the pager. I threw it across the room and onto the other couch, which it bounced off of and landed back at my feet. I frown, "Either this really is important, or that was one of the oddest coincidences I've ever witnessed." I pick up the pager and walk over to the phone.

"Chauncy," I say when he picked up, "Do you understand the concept of me having a life? It may seem unbelievable, but it's true, y'know."

"I'm _sorry_ Clarice," He said in that office drone voice, "But it was an _emergency._ There've been a few Elvis-esque _Cannibal sightings_ in the state."

"Elvis-esque? What the _hell_ are you talking about, Chauncy? You sound like one of the tin foil hatters we get down at the office every once in a while."

"Y'know those _people_ who claim they see _Elvis_ every once in a while? Even though he's _Dead?"_

"Doctor Lecter's not dead, Chauncy. Now, where are you going with this?"

"Well, _Clarice, _I'm just _saying_ that even though some of the people are _weirdoes_ and _fakes, _you might want to keep on your _toes._"

"I'm always on my toes, sir. I don't need any reminding." I said, grudgingly.

"I just _wanted _to make sure you _knew._ Have a good _day, Starling."_ He hung up.

I slammed the phone down, "Dickpaint."

Doctor Lecter raised an eyebrow. I sighed, "I picked up a few creative cussing tips from Faith." He frowned a bit – barely noticeable.

"I'm not even going to ask." He said.

"Good choice."

*Faith*

_Duel Duet_ from Shock Treatment playing in the background now. This is actually one of my favorite scenes, for some reason or other. I guess it's because it's amusing.

I heard something out in the hall. The door opened and I hear, "Hey, Dad – I found the losers."

It was Knox. I was quick with my witty remark.

"Thom, I've spotted a wild Douchebag! We must document this! Get the camera!" I exclaimed.

"Crikey!" Thom said in his best Crocodile hunter impression, "It's rare to see the Douchebag outside of its natural habitat – this is a real find, Faith!"

Mr. Velez – Dammit, if mom hadn't taught me to have such manners, I wouldn't refer to him as 'sir' and 'mister' – walked in.

Chauncy Velez is a fat, bald, corporate bastard. If that's not a good enough description for you, he's a greasy, rat of a man with his fancy suits and cheap shirts and ties. He smokes – but not in public. The only indicators of his guilty pleasure are the yellowed gums and teeth, along with the premature wrinkles. He talks in an office monotone while exaggerating certain words in sentences. So, you _see,_ he talks _like this._ Did I mention that the Velez's are one of the richest families in town? They live in this fancy three story house just outside of town. They have like, maids and shit.

But Mr. Velez walks in to see Knox and I glaring at each other. He leans against the doorframe – I swear to god I heard it creak, he's that large – "I don't know _why_ you two have such a _rivalry._"

"Stay outta this, dad." Knox growled.

"Dude, you shouldn't be a dick to your dad. It's just not cool." I said. It's not cool to be rude to your parents.

"This is none of your business, dork."

Then, Thom decided to pipe up with a question that was actually relevant, "OK, so why are you two here?"

Knox and I continued to stare each other down, and Mr. Velez answered, "Well, _Thomas_, we just wanted to see _how_ you were doing. Your . . . _mothers_ . . . seemed very concerned."

Thom frowned. He hated being called Thomas, and he really hated when people got all weird about him having two moms. "Well, sir, I'm doing fine, as you can see. And they're probably concerned because, well – they _are_ my parents. And parents get pretty concerned when their kids get hit by cars." He pursed his lips, "At least, they normally do." Thom looked over to me.

I looked over to Mr. Velez. He couldn't make eye contact with me. "So," I blurted out, "What are you pussyfooting around, sir?"

His eyes flickered to mine and back to the floor. "What do you _mean,_ er . . ."

"Nice job," I say, "You forgot my name. Faith. Y'know . . . Starling's weird kid?" I'd overheard him once, waiting for mom, saying something like 'Starling's _kid_ is fucking _weird._' "And what I mean is that your body language is saying that you're hiding something. So come out with it."

"Well, ummm . . ."

"Oh, and I'm wondering why you would care about Thom's wellbeing, especially when neither of his parents work for you or the Bureau branch. There has to be a reason for you being here. You nor your son are 'unexpected visit because I care' kind of people."

He stuttered. He made eye contact for a moment. His pupils constricted, he looked away and dragged his son out of the room with him, muttering something.

The thing that he muttered? Well, I heard 'Fucking creepy cannibal's child.'


	14. F14

*Faith*

"Faith," Thom said, "He doesn't mean it. It's just a stupid rumor The Tattler started."

I sighed, "A rumor that has been persistent for almost fourteen years now."

It's incredible how long something stupid like this can go on. They've been asking for interviews since I learnt how to talk. It's not that it's unbelievable, it's just that the idea is impractical in theory. I mean, if Hannibal Lecter was my dad, I'd know eight languages and go to some fancy schmancy school where there are fireplaces in every room and the cafeteria food isn't made of . . . whatever the Hell it's made of here.

"This day's starting off on a wonderful note." I mutter.

. . . and, suddenly, someone slammed the door open. Someone who was like, 5'8'' with red hair. "GUESS WHAT?!" Tim exclaimed, "THE VENDING MACHINE GAVE ME _TWO!_" I blinked at him. Tim had an uncanny ability to show up at both the weirdest times and the best times – y'know, those moments where you just really, _really_ need that person there to lighten the mood? Yeah, that's Tim, and he'll always show up. "Now," he asked, walking over to me and Thom, "How do you divide two things among three people?"

"You should know that one," I state blatantly, "You're the only one of us that's actually good at math, Tim."

"I just want to see if you know."

"Of course I know," I said, "you divide both of them into thirds and give two third-pieces to each person. Or you can cut off one third of both of them and then one person will just have two one third pieces while the other two have whole two-thirds pieces."

"But what if the candy isn't in bar form?"

"Divide the pieces into thirds. Give each person two one-third groups of candy."

He smiled and tossed a Snicker's bar at me. "Why do I get a whole one?" I asked.

"Because, you need the calories more than Thom and I do. I mean, look how little you are! What, you're something like 5'0'', and you have to weigh like, less than one-fifty."

"Are you guys trying to fatten me up so I won't be able to run as fast when the zombie invasion commences?" I say, tearing into the Snickers.

"Of course. And if this plan fails, we'll just take advantage of the fact that you have horrible balance and trip you." Thom said, eyeing his Snickers half excitedly – undoubtedly, he'd only had crappy hospital food up until now. "Oh yeah, Tim – guess what?"

"They're replacing your lower body with a robotic one?"

"No, but that'd be pretty awesome," he said. He paused, "Tonya broke up with me."

Tim's eyebrow rose. He shrugged, "Good riddance to bad diva, is what I say. That chick was no good. She probably would've married you, killed you, and stolen all your assets." He chewed thoughtfully.

"No, no, Tim," I said, "You've got it all wrong. She would've had him sign everything over to her covertly, make out a will – saying it was 'just in case' -- leaving everything to her and _then_ killed him. Then she would just sit back and reap the benefits. "

"Guys, she was pretty nice once you got to know her."

Tim and I looked at each other with contempt. "She was a bitch, Thom." I said. Thom was about to put up another argument when my phone rang. I pull my phone out of my pocket by its charm, Pikachu – yes, my phone charm is Pokémon. The call was from Mom. "Gimme a second guys, I need to take this. It's mom. I'll be right back in." I walked out into the hall and pressed the 'OK' button.

"Hon, I think we need a week up at the cabin." Mom said.

"Hello to you too, mom," I said sarcastically, "why do you think that?"

"Lots of stress. I know we both need a relaxing week every once in a while." She had a point.

"You had me at 'cabin,' mom. When are we leaving?"

"How about tonight? Around like, five or something?"

"Sounds nice. That'll give me some time to sleep and pack."

"Oh, and the Doc is going to drive us over there so you don't get caught driving my car again."

"Good idea. When will you be here?"

"Umm, like, ten minutes."

"OK, love you. Bye."

"—wait,"

''Yeah?"

"Is it OK with you if Doc comes along?"

"Why not? He has to deal with psychos like me every day. He needs a vacation here and there too."

"Thanks hon."

"No prob'm, mom."

"Love you, Faith."

"Love you too. Bye."

I pressed 'end' on my phone and re-entered the room.

"—it's like, how am I supposed to catch 'em all now?" I heard Tim say, "Oh, hey Faith," He said when he saw me coming in, "We're just talking about the obscene number of Pokemon these days."

I smiled, "Over four hundred. Seriously? It's stupid."

"I mean, and how can they _discover_ living pre-evolutions? I mean, if they were like, fossils, that'd be logical, but if they just randomly discovered Pichu, it makes no sense." Tim said.

"I gotta go in like, ten minutes – just so you guys know."

"It's OK Faith, you're not my keeper or anything," Thom said.

"Well," I pointed out, "The last time I wasn't within twenty feet of you, you got hit by the Velez's car."

He looked confused, "Wait," He said, "It was the _Velez's_?" He sat up in the hospital bed. Now I can see that his abdomen is covered in bandages and gauze. "You can't be serious, Faye."

"I'm not surprised," Tim said.

"Neither am I. Mainly because I saw them." I said.

"Wait you _saw _them after they hit me?" Thom said. He looked pretty baffled.

"Yes. I was in the back lot talking to my mom and the new counselor guy – who my mom apparently knows – and I smelt something weird. It smelt like . . ." I tried to think. I pointed to his saline drip, "It smelt like a saline drip and rust. It took me a second to figure out it was blood—"

"Hold up," It was Tim this time, "You smelt that from the back lot? And you," he turned to Thom, "You were on the crosswalk in front of the school?"

"I'm not surprised," Thom said. Tim and Thom looked at me.

"I'm actually kind of confused about this one too, Tim." I said, "You know I have a good nose, but I'm not a fricken' Basset Hound.

"So you smelt his blood from like, almost a block away," Tim said, trying to put this together in his head – he had just heard about it this morning – "So," he said, "What happened after that?"

I thought for a second, "I figured out it was blood, so I assumed it was some sort of emergency and ran to the scene. Then," I faltered, getting a bit dizzy, "Then, I saw it, saw a body on the ground, saw the ambulance, but all that – they were side notes. The two things I actually _noticed, _actually _saw_ were Thom and the Velez's in their car." I got quiet. In my head, I was evaluating their expressions, the Velez's faces . . . only Knox looked shocked, even a bit appalled. But Mr. Velez . . . he looked almost like he was expecting it. I frowned. I tucked that observation away for later.

"Faith," Thom said, "You got that look again."

Thom's voice snapped me out of it. I noticed they were staring at me. "Oh," I said, "Sorry. Got a bit carried away."

Tim walked over to the window looking out into the parking lot. "Whoa," He said, "Someone just pulled in with this epic car."

"What kind of car is it?" Thom said, not being able to see from his perch in the bed. Tim didn't respond. "Faith," he said, anxious, "Go over and see what kind of car it is!" I walk over to the window and took a peek.

"_Whoa._" I gasped. I turned back to Thom, "It looks like a . . . Bentley, if I'm correct."

"Is it a recent model?" Thom said. He looked like he was bursting at the seams from not seeing this car.

"Ummm . . . it doesn't look so recent. Probably bought used – good condition, almost mint, though. They just parked." I said, reporting. Mom and I knew our cars. For most girls, it's no interesting subject, but then again, I'm not 'most girls.'

"Who's getting out? No one from here, right?"

"Likely." I leaned further towards the window. It was a guy, in what appeared to be relatively nice set of clothes, "He's probably from like, the board of health," I said. He was wearing a fedora. He walked over to the other side of the car and opened the door – probably grabbing his briefcase or something.

Or not. I blinked as someone got out of the passenger seat. A woman – not very tall, with reddish brown hair and a thin, wiry figure . . .

"_Mom?!"_ I exclaimed. Wrapping my brain around this, I said, "Oh, oh, that must be the Doc's car."

"Why is your mom hitching a ride with him?" Thom asked, "I'd never miss a chance to take her Mustang for a ride."

"She can't drive the 'Stang because _I _drove it here." I said.

There was a pause, "Faith, you do realize that you don't even have a permit, right?" Thom said, gently.

"I know, but it was an emergency."

"What was an emergency?" Thom asked.

"You."

"Well _you_ can't even see over the steering wheel." He looked a bit dissatisfied, "I don't want you getting caught or hurt, Faye." He frowned.

"Thom," I said, "There's no need to worry about me. You don't have to be my keeper." I frowned.

There was an awkward pause.

"OK, I feel really left out right now." Tim said, exasperated. "Do I have to leave or something?" He threw his hands out.

I smiled again, "You can stay. Sorry – I have to admit, that must have been awkward for you. Whenever that happens, "I suggest, "Just randomly butt in or something. It'll save us all some trouble."

"Good idea," Thom said, "That _was_ a little disturbing." We all nodded, agreeing.

The door opened and Mom came in, along with . . . what the Hell should I call him? He's Lecter, yet he's Olekas . . . well, he's a doctor either way. I'll just go with mom and refer to him as 'Doc.' Mom came in with Doc. That sounds fine to me.

Thom immediately piped up, "Sir, I have to say, from what I'm hearing from Tim and Faith, I admire your car."

The Doctor smiled, "Why, thank you – it's a 2004 model Bentley."

Thom sighed, "I wish I could see it, but," He gestured to the room, the bed, "I'm stuck here for a while." He smiled.

Something tugged at the back of my mind, "Thom," I asked, turning to him, "Where are Margot and Judy?"

"What? Oh, I told them to go home and get some sleep. They probably got less than you, Faye – no matter what I'd have told them." He shrugged, "I don't know what they're worried about."

Something clicked in Doc's eyes. "Judy and Margot . . ." He said, "This wouldn't be Margot Verger and her partner, Judy Jones, would it?" He asked Mom.

She smiled, "Yeah. This is their boy, Thom. They took Judy's last name for . . ." She pause, "Obvious reasons – at least to you."

He nodded, "The Verger surname is a bit cumbersome to bear." He turned to Thom, "So _you're_ the Thomas that Margot mentioned to me years ago." He smiled at Thom.

Thom returned the smile, "Yeah, that's me." His blue eyes sparkled.

"Has anyone told you that you look just like your mother?"

"Only every day since I could pay attention to what they were saying." Thom laughed.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Thomas."

"Actually, I go by Thom. 'Thomas' just sounds too fancy and formal for someone like me." He turned to shake the Doctor's hand. In the process, I think he may have hurt something, because once he let go, his hand went to the bandages on his abdomen. He winced. He looked at me and Tim, "I think I'll crash for a bit, guys. You two have better things to do than sit around here." He looked at me, "I'll just have mom drop your stuff off soon, so you won't have to pack it all up or anything." By 'mom' he pretty much means 'Judy.'

"Tim, you have anything to do? Do you have a ride?"

"Yeah, I just texted my dad – he'll be here in a bit."

"Ok," I said. "So, I'll see you two freaks later?"

Tim looked over to Mom and Doc, "Don't worry," He said, "It's a term of endearment."


	15. F15

A/N – I'm so sorry it's been so long! I've been busy with a few other projects, my psychiatrist, drivers ed, and Warped Tour as of late – but be expecting another chapter soon!

*Clarice*

We were back home and packing. Faith was currently crashing on the couch and I was throwing a week's worth of supplies in my bags. The doctor was already packed – how he did that on such short notice, I have no idea. Maybe he's always prepared to leave, at any given moment?

He piped up after about ten minutes of my bustling about the house looking for various things – the keys to the cabin (which he found), bath products, cell phone chargers, stuff like that.

"Do you two regularly just pack up and go to the mountains for a week?" He asked, handing me the keys.

"Yes. Every couple of months, Faith and I decide that we've had it with our normal lives, so we head up north to the cabin."

"Where exactly is your cabin?"

"About seventy miles northeast of here. It's on the edge of this little village that has only a couple hundred people in it."

"So, about an hour or so away."

"Yeah," I said, chucking a shampoo bottle into the bag. I checked my watch – we were leaving at five, and it was almost four. "I should probably wake Faith up. Be right back." I was through the door when I remembered something and popped back into the bedroom, "Oh, and Hannibal?"

"Yes, Clarice?"

"Please, for Pete's sake, don't lick anything while I'm gone, OK?" His only response was a smile. I sighed and headed downstairs. I cut through the kitchen towards the living room, but find Faith at the fridge . . . drinking orange juice straight from the jug. I shake my head. I can never decide to be thankful when she acts like a normal teenager, or appalled.

She puts the jug of orange juice back in the fridge, "What time is it?" She asks.

"You can't be bothered to look at the clock?"

"That would require turning my head towards the clock." She looked over at the clock, "Oh, OK then." She turns back to me, "So, how are you?"

"Fine. I'm just finishing up my packing. You?"

"Fine as well. Oh," She gasped, "I need to call someone to Flynn-sit. Bekkah or someone should be open for the week."

"OK – just don't forget anything important when you're packing OK?"

"I won't, OK? You underestimate me."

"Faith, the way your memory works, I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot your clothes while packing."

*Faith*

I frowned. I'm not _that_ forgetful.

I walk into the den to call Bekkah, and was relatively surprised to find Dr. Lecter admiring my piano. No, you didn't mishear me, _my_ piano. Five summers of work for the wealthy, elderly neighbors down the way, and that baby grand is what came of it. She's my pride and joy.

"Nice, isn't it?" I say.

"Very."

"It's a Baldwin M. Twenty-one thousand, nine hundred and sixty dollars. And that was in 2005 - by now, it'll be worth more." I smiled and walked over.

He looked towards me, "Where did you get that kind of money at your age?"

I shrugged, "Many, many little jobs for this wealthy, elderly couple. On average, I got about forty dollars a day. And then, I'd help Judy Jones at her Bed and Breakfast on busy days, too."

"Bed and breakfast?"

"Yeah, Judy's place is pretty packed during ski season. We've got this massive ski race that a ton of people from other states and countries come to, so she'll get a lot of business then. And then, there are holidays, and breaks where people will want to come to a cheerful little town for a bit to get away from their lives." I plucked out the first few bars of Für Elise absentmindedly.

"Für Elise, Beethoven?"

"Of course."

"You can play it from memory, then?"

"Yeah," I shrugged and sat down at the bench, "It's really not all that hard to memorize." I cracked my knuckles and played it all the way through (mainly because I didn't want there to be an awkward silence).

*Hannibal*

She plays decently. "How long have you played?" I ask.

Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling, "Something like . . . ten years, almost." Her fingers never straying from the keys absentmindedly. "I started when I was five. I played on a keyboard until I was ten, then I bought this beaut." She said, nodding to the baby grand. It really was an impressive piano, I must admit.

"Have you ever played a harpsichord?"

"I played a harpsichord at a concert once, but I don't play on one recreationally. It has a nice sound in my opinion, though." She struck the last chord and segued into some song I wasn't familiar with.

"'Faust' from 'Phantom of the Paradise,' if you're wondering." She said, "Beautiful song, even without the lyrics."

I thought about this for a moment, "Do you play any other instruments?"

"Yeah, trombone, percussion, French horn, and I dabble in a bunch of other instruments," She smiled, "Jack of all trades, ace of none." She deftly transitioned into an Imogen Heap number. She shook her head, her grin growing wider, "I could play for hours, just off of memory."

*Clarice*

I walked into the den – I'd heard Faith playing, which means she probably went in there for something and got distracted. Faith . . . often gets distracted. Distracted, off subject, whatever you may call it, Faith will do it at least once a day. Most likely, she'll get distracted several times a day.

I noticed what she was playing, "Oh, Faith, I love this song!"

She lifted her head in acknowledgement, "What, 'Speeding Cars?'"

"Yes, and you know very well how much I love this song." I smiled, and walked toward the piano, "Do you remember when you were little, and I'd always call you my little Maestro, or my little Mozart?"

Faith smiled, "And with good reason, too. When I first had music class, I could almost play better than my teacher."

"To your teachers' credit, she was horrible. It doesn't take much to beat her." It's true – that teacher, frankly, sucked.

"That woman couldn't tell the difference between a violin and a viola, I tell you." Faith said, "And she was always hitting sour notes."

"Didn't you get detention once for yelling at her about that?"

She laughed a bit, "That was _so_ not fair!"

"What'd you say, again?"

"I said, 'E FLAT, NOT SHARP. YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!' and then I played about two measures of it, _correctly_ for her. And I got in trouble for it!"

"I had to do an awful lot of explaining about that one."

She sighs, "Near perfect pitch is a double edged blade, Mom."

"Did you ever call anyone about watching Flynn?"

"No, I got distracted." She said.

"You should do that."

"I probably should," She said, transitioning into yet another song.

"Well, speak of the devil. Clarice, I may need to use your telephone. I need to call someone up to look after Clarence," Dr. Lecter said. I tried to ignore the fact that I jumped a little, his sudden speech surprising me. Faith didn't move an inch.

"Who's Clarence?" I asked. Faith's playing slowed down a bit, quieter.

"Clarence is my Bearded Dragon. Or, I daresay, I'm his human, so to speak." Faith smiled at his response.

"Bearded Dragon . . ." Faith mutters, "Is that the one that does the . . . uh . . ." at a loss of words, she put her fists up to her neck and flared her fingers out, "They puff up. Yeah. That's what I meant."

I could see Dr. Lecter was trying not to laugh. "Yes, they're native to –"

"They're native to Australia. Like Flynn." Faith finished for him.

"Might I ask _why_ you have a Duck-billed Platypus?"

Faith shrugged, "There's a miniature colony of them throughout the lake. Flynn just kind of took a liking to us, so he stayed. Why there's a miniature colony of them on the lake? I have no idea. There was an article in Pop Sci about it a little while back. Something about the isolated climate, blah blah, things like that," Faith said, getting up and sliding the piano bench back in. "I'll go call Bekkah and Dezzy. They'll be able to stop by periodically for Flynn, and I'll tell the neighbors to mind the farm animals for us, 'kay?" She walked out of the den towards the kitchen.

"Faith," I called after her, "Check the forecast. See if we need to do anything for the garden."

"'Kay Mom, will do." She called back.

*Faith*

I need to stop getting distracted by the piano . . . though it made for some good conversation. I mean, who would've know Dr. Lecter had a Bearded Dragon? Except that was a _horrible_ verbal blunder on my part. Eh, it happens.

I pick up the phone in the kitchen to dial Bekkah's number. While it's ringing, I open my laptop on the counter and check the weather forecast. I frown; It's going to be dry this week.

"Hey, this is Bekkah."

"Hey Bekkah, Faith here. Can you Flynn-sit with Dezzy or someone for about a week? We're going up to the cabin and . . . y'know, won't be here to do so ourselves."  
"Yeah, sure. How's Thom, by the way?"

"He's OK. Not quite back to his peak physical condition, which is something like being able to smash a can on his head, but hey, it's only been a little while since he got out of the OR."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, went there this morning. Ugh, guess who was there?"

"A bear with chainsaws for feet?"

"No, because that would be awesome and terrifying. What I saw was horrible and sucky."

"Oh. Knox."

"Yeah, and his dad came with."

"Disgusting."

"Who are you talking about in that statement?"

"Both."

"What makes it even worse is that Mr. Velez stated some tabloid-esque things."

"Oh, I know what you're saying."

"Yeah. I was pretty much ready to take him and his son and tie them to a frequented railroad track."

"It was that bad?"

"_They're_ that bad."

"OK. Do you guys need us over today? Or just every day following today?"

"You can come over today if you want. Flynn's been fed, but he'll probably be bummed that we're gone. He'll be a bit lonely, so yeah, come over. Make sure he doesn't get too depressed or something."

"OK, when are you guys leaving?"

"Five."

"Faith, it is five."

"I mean five thirty."

"Sure."

"OK, bye."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone. I look back over to the laptop screen. No rain is expected, so I should probably water the garden really well and set the sprinkler system. I closed out of the few windows I had open on the laptop and went outside though the porch door in the kitchen. I walked over to the sprinkler system's console on the outside of the house and punched in the adjustments, and set it to 'ON.' Then I grabbed the hose and walked over to the garden – then I realized that I didn't have any shoes on. Crap. Oh well. I shrugged and turned the hose on. What's a little mud on my feet?

I soaked the tomatoes well, since the ground was still dry after the recent drought. Moved onto the flowers and through everything else – peppers, lettuce, celery, peas, cucumbers, zucchinis, all that kind of stuff. We've also got some pumpkin seeds germinating inside, and I make a mental reminder to make a note for Bekkah and Dezzy to water those. When I was finished, making sure everything was thoroughly soaked, I turned off the hose and threw it back into a heap by the spout. Double checking to make sure the sprinklers were set to 'ON,' I padded back inside. I quickly scribbled a note for Bekkah and Dezzy about the pumpkin seeds and that they should probably avoid eating all the frosting this time, and stuck it on the fridge with a magnet shaped like a garden gnome.

I do a mental check to make sure everything's all said and done in the kitchen and head upstairs – before remembering my laptop and coming back for it. _Then_ I go upstairs to pack. When I get to my room – through the door this time, not the window – I grab my travelling bag and backpack. I fill my backpack with just your daytrip kind of things – iPod, a book or two, stuff like that, and in the travelling bag, I shoved jeans, t-shirts, longsleeves, long underwear shirts, shorts, pajamas, socks (none of them matched), under-stuff, more books, mace, duct tape, my ID, sunglasses, wallet, my novel for English class (Romeo and Juliet), amongst other things. I made sure I had everything (take _that_, mom!), and I went outside and shoved it in the trunk of the Mustang.


End file.
